


Just Give It Time

by mihomi98



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Breaking Up & Making Up, Enjolras Is Bad At Communicating, Eponine and Grantaire As Siblings, Fighting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, argument, enjolras is a bad boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 05:02:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10678224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mihomi98/pseuds/mihomi98
Summary: Grantaire thought that after four years of dating that Enjolras would finally make time for him, but when Enjolras skips date night on Grantaire's three-year anniversary of sobriety, he realizes that he's never going to be enough.He just can't do it any more.





	Just Give It Time

1

If there was one thing that Enjolras was good at, it was keeping his promises.

Or, at least he mostly was. 99 percent of the time. Well, maybe 50 percent . . . okay, maybe closer to twenty-five. The important thing was that he / _tried_ /, he truly did, to honor everything that he said. Life sometimes just got the better of him, and if he had to choose between doubt social work for his nonprofit organization or to follow through the promises that he makes in his personal life . . . well, work always came first.

Maybe that was where everything went so wrong.

 

***

 

"Fuck!" Grantaire exclaimed, dropping the lid to the stock pot as the steaming metal scalded the inside of his palm. He used a towel to push it to the side before going over to the sink, turning the water as cold as it would go and thrusting the already-blistering skin under the icy stream. Immediately, the pain began to ebb away until it was more of an ache rather than a sharp pain . . . at least when he kept his fingers spread and his hand arched back.

Grantaire glared down at his hand before turning on his heel and walking back over to the stovetop. He grabbed a wooden spoon from off the counter and used it to stir the fettuccini noodles that had begun to stick to the bottom of the pot in clumps.

Somehow, Grantaire must have managed to cook the pasta for a much longer time than he had planned to, as it began to dissolve into gummy chunks the moment it was scraped from the metal, making the water cloudy and a hideous yellow-white color. It was hardly the crisp, al dente pasta that he normally prided himself in making.

Grantaire sighed and grabbed the discarded towel. He wrapped it around the handles of the pot before picking it up and dumping the mass into the sink, rinsing the pot out and refilling it before placing it back on the stove to boil again.

While the new water boiled, Grantaire decided to go down the hall to his bathroom to find some sort of bandage he could use to protect his palm from any further injuries, be it another burn or a ruptured blister. It wouldn't stop the pain, but perhaps it would be enough to keep things from getting worse.

Unfortunately, it seemed that all that was left in Grantaire's medical cabinet was an expired tube of Neosporin and a bottle of anti-anxieties that belonged to his boyfriend. The closest thing they had that resembled a bandage was the box of tampons that they kept around for their female friends, and he hardly wanted to use /that/ to bandage his hand.

Grantaire shook his head and shut the cabinet. He would just have to tough it out.

He went back to the kitchen and checked the pot, shocked to see that there were already small bubbles beginning to form along the edges of the metal. He pulled the box of pasta back out from the cabinet and dumped it in, taking extra care to make sure that he added enough salt and oil to the water to keep anything from sticking.

Grantaire had just begun to stir the pasta when his phone rang from the other side of the counter, where the phone was plugged in next to the refrigerator. At first, he couldn't make out the name on the caller ID, but as the phone to blare "What Makes You Beautiful" by One Direction, he knew exactly who it was.

"Hey, Ep," Grantaire greeted his sister, angling his head so that he could cradle his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he got the pot holder (the stroke of intelligence reaching him only slightly too late) and opened the oven, pulling out the loaf of bread he was toasting and poking the cheese lightly to see how melted it was before pushing it back in.

"Hey, R. How's everything going? Burned the apartment down yet?" Eponine's voice sounded playful, but Grantaire knew that there was a note of seriousness hidden beneath the jibe.

"Burning down the apartment" was something that hit a little too close to home when it came to Grantaire's past. He had been thirteen when he had been adopted into the Martinez family, and had been barely fourteen when his adoptive parents left him and his siblings home alone for a few hours after school. Eponine had only been ten, and their younger siblings (Eponine's biological brother and their adopted sister) had been five and three, respectively. The hours dwindled by until it was well after supper time, and Grantaire found himself dealing with three whining, complaining siblings. Micah and Lynn had never let Grantaire use their stove (it was electric, and had a habit of shorting out at the most inopportune of times), but Eponine, Gavroch, and Azelma's hunger pains were more pressing than the possibility of getting in trouble for cooking.

When Grantaire began to make macaroni and cheese for supper, however, he failed to keep the ratio of water to pasta consistent, which meant that by the time the pasta had begun to cook, the water had already evaporated by at least half. Azelma and Gavroch had started to loudly argue about something in the living room, so Grantaire gave the pasta one last stir and went to go sort things out.

If there was more water in the pot, Grantaire's lack of attention would not have been a problem. However, by the time the macaroni noodles had begun to soften and absorb some of the water, the pot was nearly dry. Grantaire was too engrossed in settling things with his siblings that he didn't notice the thick stench of smoke permeating the house made it difficult for him to breathe.

It was then that the now-burning pasta lost what was left of its moisture, and grew so dry that the heat from beneath the metal ignited the grains like they were mere sticks of kindling. The fire grew and grew until the smoke alarm finally went off and alerted Grantaire that something was wrong.

Grantaire shook himself back into reality. "Ha ha, very funny," he muttered. He reached up and took the phone back into his hand. He tilted his head back up and began to stir the pasta again, his stomach filling with nerves as he realized that the noodles had begun to stick to one another again. He let out an exasperated breath and took the spoon out, letting it clatter against the counter. "I've decided that I hate pasta."

Eponine snorted. "Yeah, okay. You're the one who decided that you needed to go all out and make a big dinner for tonight. I don't know why Enjolras and you didn't just decide to go out to eat or anything. I mean, three years sober is a /huge/ deal, R, don't get me wrong, but I don't know if I would make a romantic dinner for it, if it was me."

"Yeah, well . . . " he trailed off, reaching a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. He didn't have a response to what Eponine said. He understood where she was coming from, but from his side, it made sense that he would want to celebrate such a huge accomplishment at home with the love of his life. Besides, Grantaire hated celebrating /anything/ in public, nonetheless the decision to stop killing his liver.

The conversation went quiet for a minute or two while Grantaire stirred the pasta and got the bread out of the oven, the sounds of Azelma yelling and Eponine's son, Nicholas, crying in the background.

"Look, Ep," Grantaire eventually said, pouring the pasta into a strainer in the sink before scratching the back of his neck, "I really should be going. Enjolras promised that he would be home around six for dinner." It was 5:47 already.

"All right. Tell Enjolras I said hello."

"Will do. Love you, Eponine."

"Love you, too."

Grantaire pulled his phone away from his head and ended the call before pushing it to the back of the counter and setting to work with mixing the pasta with the sauce.

By the time that six rolled around, Grantaire still wasn't happy with the finished product of his meal. He scrounged up a few different spices from his spice rack and threw them in, but there was nothing really spectacular about the dish.

Discontented, Grantaire twisted his lips up to the side as he sampled another less-than-perfect bite. He put the fork in the sink and took the bowl to the table before going back and finishing up the bread. He added a bit more parmesan and mozzarella cheeses before slicing it up and putting it in a bread basket, which he put on the table next to the pasta.

Grantaire got the plates and utensils out of the cabinets and put them in their proper places at the table, smiling softly as he took in the setup. He had always loved the proper nature of a set table, and this time was no exception.

An impatient rumbling from his stomach caused Grantaire to pull his phone out of his pocket and check the time. His empty stomach clenched and unclenched as he realized that nearly forty-five minutes had somehow managed to go by in between when he had gotten off the phone and now.

He stared at the digits for several minutes, watching as the six turned to a seven. Once it had, he pulled open his text messages and went through his conversations until he found the one between Enjolras and him. He thought about what he was going to say before shooting him a text. / _Hey baby. Thought you'd be home by six? What's up?/_

Grantaire's phone made a buzzing sound when the message sent. It didn't, however, make a noise to alert him of a receiving text.

He stared down at his phone for nearly a quarter of an hour before trying again. / _Enjolras_?/

Still no answer.

Grantaire made a fist around his phone, not caring about the way that the sharp plastic cut into his palm. It distracted him from his worry and concern about the wellbeing of his boyfriend.

 _/He's probably just caught up at work_ /, Grantaire reminded himself, dropping his phone onto the table and moving to tap his fingers against the red-orange oak. It wasn't unusual for Enjolras to stay late at work, even for him to spend the night at the office, but he normally at least gave Grantaire a call so that he wouldn't worry.

Lately, though . . . Enjolras had been forgoing the courtesy call. Grantaire knew he wasn't doing it intentionally, that he was just too caught up in his work to focus on anything else, but Grantaire couldn't say that it didn't bother him, /especially/ on a night as important to him as the anniversary of one of the best decisions of his life.

 

***

 

The clock struck twelve without ever getting a response.

Sometimes Grantaire really hated that man.

 

***

Enjolras’s fingers flew across the keyboard and his mind spun, trying to think of all the different ways that he could spin this new case he was investigating. His nonprofit organization, Les Amis de l’ABC, worked to change the way that public schools and other organizations taught children about the ways of the world. Currently, the organization was checking out a city public school that seemed to be turning out more drug dealers and rapists than it did productive members of society. Enjolras and his associates were putting heat on the school board to dismiss all of the current teachers in order to fill the positions with educators who had received training more specifically angled towards poverty-level children and their families.

He had been working since sun-up on sorting through the school board’s files, something that his dear friends on the police force had managed to subpoena without much of an issue. Bahoral and Bossuet, two members of the city Police Force as well as unofficial members of Les Amis, had convinced their boss to talk to a judge to get the files, and they had them less than a week after they started the investigation.

The files were extensive, and it took Enjolras more time to read through the files than he expected it to. Not only were there financial aspects to go through, he had to review each and every member of the board, as well as the employees of the school, to see where exactly everything had gone so wrong in the school.

Enjolras was so engrossed in the files that he barely even noticed as the hours went by, his stomach emptying and his bladder filling, his eyes growing heavy and burning as the words on the screen started to blur together, the bright backlight nearly white in the dark room.

As he reached the end of the most recent financial statement, Enjolras let a groan and leaned back in his chair. He lifted his hands and pressed them against his eyes, using the heels of his palms to rub some of the grit and sleep-crusts out of his lashes. It helped slightly, but he still felt the burn.

Enjolras lowered his hands and sat back in his chair, spreading his legs and widening his eyes, blinking hard and trying to figure out what time it was. He ground his teeth and stood up, leaving his office and making his way down the hall to use the bathroom before trekking his way to the break room, where the coffee pot was always on and the snack machine didn’t require any change. He poured himself a large, lukewarm mug of coffee and grabbed a few chocolate bars before going back to his desk.

When Enjolras got back to his desk, he was suddenly aware of the light blue flashing light in the corner of his phone screen that signified that he had at least one text message. He sat back down in his black leather rolling chair and glanced at the screen, trying to decide if he was tired enough to take a long break to check through the messages. He still had three financial documents to go through, and if he was vigilant about it, he was almost positive that he could get through at least two more of them by the time that everyone else came back into work at eight.

Enjolras twisted his mouth up to the side, running his fingers over the wrapper of one of the chocolate bars while he thought about it. He tore the wrapper and slid out the bar, his stomach growling at the smell of peanuts and nougat that swirling up from the Snickers bar. Enjolras picked the chocolate up and started to eat it, grimacing as the sugar hit one of the teeth near the back of his mouth. He had had a cavity there for months, but he hadn’t had time to get it fixed in between organizing protests and pressing against boards.

Once Enjolras finished the chocolate, he threw the wrapper away before taking a sip of his coffee. He continued his internal debate while he drank before deciding that he might as well check his messages while the sugar settled.

He unlocked his phone screen to look at his messages, shocked to see that he had seven missed calls and twelve unread text messages. Normally when he was working, his friends knew to leave him alone, and Grantaire very rarely called or texted him when Enjolras was at the office.

At the thought of Grantaire, Enjolras let out a smile. He had been dating the man for a little under four years, and had been living with him for two. They were happy together, and Enjolras could truly say that he had never been more in love with anyone else in his entire life. In fact, he could remember the exact moment when he realized that he had fallen in love with Grantaire. They had been friends for a little over two years at that point, although Enjolras couldn’t say with any certainty that Grantaire considered him to be a friend before they began to date. They argued all the time and Enjolras, whom always saw the potential in Grantaire, was unwilling to give up on being brutally honest and curt with Grantaire until he realized that potential.

In fact, Enjolras could remember the exact argument that led to their start of their relationship. Enjolras had been working on a protest against a downtown group home that had begun to turn away teen mothers under the guise of “not being equipped” to provide for the children. Grantaire was arguing that Enjolras would never be able to successfully get the group home to change their way, but Enjolras didn’t quite agree.

 _Grantaire slammed his hands down on the table of the Musain, the force of his palms knocking over the bottle of wine that he had steadily been drinking out of since the start of the evening. He glared at the dark-purple liquid as it spread across the threads of the dark-brown table cloth that was on the table before looking back up at Enjolras. “Enjolras, I know that you think that getting baby items donated to the shelter is going to make all this better, but it’s not going to be all rainbows and sunshine for these girls even if they are able to stay at these homes. They need work training, Enjolras, and they need proper_ support _so that they can give their children the best lives possible. What are you going to do to help them when they turn eighteen, huh? What is going to happen to them when they age out of the system?”_

 _Enjorlas ground his teeth and clenched his fists, anger filling his stomach as he narrowed his eyes. He copied Grantaire’s position and dropped his hands down onto the table, leaning forward and baring his teeth irately. “These girls need a place to stay_ now _, and we_ are _working to ensure that there will more than just goods donated to the center. With the money that we can raise, the center can hire more men and women to teach the girls how to budget effectively, how to get a job, how to find a stable home_ _! The girls will be able to make the best life for both them and their children. Dammit, Grantaire, if you would just help us for once—“_

_“And what would you have me do, huh? Beg for money on the streets? Sell my body to raise some extra funds?"_

_"Grantaire, you know that's not what we do--"_

_"But it's what /they/ are going to have to do if they don't get proper training. My sister struggles enough as it is with being a teen parent, and she's had support since she found out she was pregnant! What are these girls going to do without that, huh?" His eyes were blazing and his mouth was set in a firm line. "You can't help everyone, Enjolras, and this is something that is bigger than you. These girls, they're not a one-time change. You get this /one/ group home to accept unwed mothers, awesome. But what about the girls in other parts of the city? Of the country? What do you expect to do about--why are you looking at me like that?"/_

Somewhere over the course of Grantaire's words, things started to make sense for Enjolras. He could see passion in the man's eyes that rivaled his own, and he could hear the thought-out words of intelligence leaving Grantaire's mouth. Sure, he always pointed out the holes in Enjolras's arguments, and generally, he helped make things better, but he had never been as full of this / _passion_ / and excitement about any other cause.

It was beautiful, and Enjolras would be lying if he said it didn't make his heart beat harder in his chest.

With that thought in mind, Enjolras put his coffee down and went to his messages. He had one from Combeferre, two from Grantaire, and five from Eponine.

He decided to read Combeferre's first. It wasn't anything important, just a question about how he was going to approach the board at the end of the week, but it was Eponine's text messages that really confused Enjolras. They had been sent every half hour from nine to eleven, and were anything but pleasant. Eponine and he had never been the closest of acquaintances (she was very protective of her brother, and didn't think that Enjolras was good enough for him), but she had never expressed downright hatred for him like she had in the messages.

_/Eponine (9:02:16): Seriously? You're a fucking dick._

_Eponine (9:31:28): Enjolras. GET YOUR ASS HOME._

_Eponine (10:04:02): My brother deserves so much better than you_

_Eponine (10:35:58): three years Enjolras. THREE YEARS._

_Eponine (11:02:19): you know what, it's a good thing you didn't go home tonight. It might not be a big thing to you but three years of sobriety is a fucking big accomplishment for R. He wanted to celebrate it with you but of course you're too fucking busy to even acknowledge that your boyfriend needs you. I don't know why he doesn't just leave you already./_

Enjolras dropped his phone in shock, his heart racing as the plastic bounced off his desk and landed in his lap. He picked it back up and shoved it in his back pocket before grabbing his keys and his briefcase and running out of the office as quickly as he could.

He couldn't believe that he had forgotten such an important event. Grantaire had been mentioning it for days, and Enjolras even had it written down on his calendar so that he wouldn't forget. It was just that the files and documents he was reading through were so important, and he needed to get them done as quick as possible--

No. Enjolras knew that wasn't right. He loved Grantaire, and an occasion as massive as this deserved to be put above Enjolras's work.

He got into his car and tossed his phone onto the passenger seat, nausea filling his stomach as he glanced at the digital clock that was flashing on the radio. It was nearly two o'clock in the morning, which Enjolras realized was eight hours after he had promised R that he would be home for dinner.

God, he was an asshole.

Enjolras pressed the pedal down as far as it would go, barely even noticing the speed limit signs as he flew past them. He prayed that there weren't any cops out, and that he would be able to get home without having to deal with any cops. He had plenty of bad experiences with cops, especially the local ones, and he sure as hell didn't want to get slowed down or get arrested when all he wanted to do was get home to Grantaire.

Fortunately, luck seemed to be on Enjolras's side, and he got home without any distractions. He slid into a parking spot and slammed on the breaks, throwing the car into park and ripping the key out before it had even completely stopped. He jumped out and ran to the front door of the apartment building, unlocking it and sprinting up the steps.

He almost tripped halfway up the stairs, but he didn't care, throwing his hands down to catch himself before continuing his trek. He made it to their door and unlocked that as well, stepping into the apartment and shutting the door behind him.

When Enjolras flipped the living room light on, his stomach sunk. The table was fully set, and he could see the dishes that Grantaire had made, long gone cold. He went over to the table to see what he had missed, even though he knew it didn't matter anymore.

Grantaire had made fettuccini Alfredo with chicken, complete with broccoli and asparagus mixed in to the sauce. It seemed to have solidified into a concrete mass, and Enjolras couldn't even get the fork to go deep enough into the pasta that he could pick it up. Next he checked the bread, which had gone so cold that the cheese and the dough felt more like rocks than genuine goods.

Enjolras placed the dishes back onto the table before sinking down into one of the chairs. He propped his elbows against the table and buried his face in his hands, letting out a loud sigh.

He really was an awful boyfriend.

Enjolras took a few deep breaths before sitting up straight and pushing himself up out of the chair. He let out another deep breath and stood, rocking on his heels and debating whether or not to go straight into his bedroom or just to sleep on the couch. Normally, when he fucked up, Grantaire would still let him sleep in their bed, but when it was this bad . . . He wasn't sure.

Regardless, Enjolras desperately wanted to hold Grantaire in his arms, to let him know how loved he was, even if Enjolras was awful at showing it. He wanted to make him feel so secure that there would be no doubt in his mind how important he was to Enjolras, and how he would do literally / _anything_ / for him if it meant that Grantaire would be safe and happy.

Enjolras stripped down to his boxers and left his clothes on the couch, just in case Enjolras made the wrong judgement and Grantaire wanted him to stay out of the room. He placed his shoes and socks by the front door and tiptoed down the hall to the bedroom, his heart pounding and his palms beginning to sweat as he wandered towards whatever lay ahead.

When Enjolras looked through the crack in the doorway to his room, his heart nearly broke at the scene in front of him. Grantaire was sleeping on top of the sheets and was still fully dressed in his jeans and a long-sleeved tee shirt. It was difficult to see Grantaire's face, exactly, but Enjolras was able to see enough of his swollen, red cheeks to tell that he had cried himself to sleep.

Enjolras let out a whimper and shut the door as quietly as he could, once again tiptoeing as he made his way over to the bed. At first, he was concerned that he was going to wake Grantaire up if he lied with him, but when he saw the open bottle of Benadryl sitting on the bedside table, he knew that that wouldn't be the case.

It wasn't healthy by any means, but when Grantaire was really suffering, be it from his depression or Enjolras's general ignorance, he would take a few pills to daze himself enough to make him feel better and eventually knock him out. It was something that made Enjolras angry, at first, but when he saw how much it was calming him down once Grantaire stopped drinking--it was the lesser of two evils. It kept Grantaire from sinking into a deep, dark void, and it kept his hands free from a bottle.

Sure enough, as Enjolras pulled off Grantaire's jeans and eased him beneath the covers, Grantaire didn't even stir. Enjolras placed a kiss on his brow and wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in Grantaire's dark curls and inhaling deeply. He pressed one hand flat against Grantaire's stomach, the puckered scar from an emergency appendectomy rubbing against his palm, and placed the other against Grantaire's chest, feeling the slow, even beats of his heart.

Enjolras kissed the back of Grantaire's neck and simply held him until he was finally ready to fall asleep. He had hoped that it would be quick, and that just being home with his love would be enough to calm him down, but it didn't seem to be enough. Rather than feeling relaxed, Enjolras felt miserable and disgusted with himself. Absently, he wondered if this was how his absence made Grantaire feel.

He knew it was likely, but he desperately hoped that it wasn't so. He may be a shitty boyfriend, but he wasn't so removed from their relationship that he wanted Grantaire to feel miserable. He wanted Grantaire to feel loved, and cared for, and . . .

. . . and maybe Enjolras wasn't the right man to make Grantaire feel that way.

Now it was Enjolras's turn to have the tears spring up to his eyes. Maybe Eponine had been right, and it would be better for Grantaire if the relationship was just over.

Enjolras sniffed and rubbed his eyes against the pillow, holding Grantaire even tighter still. It may be selfish, but Enjolras couldn't find it in himself for there to be /any/ situation in which Grantaire and he shouldn't be together. Soon, Enjolras would have all the information that he needed to talk to the board, and he would be able to spend more time at home. He would have time to be a good boyfriend, a good man in general, and he would show Grantaire exactly what he meant to him.

With that thought in mind, Enjolras pressed a kiss into Grantaire's hair and fell asleep.

 

***

When Grantaire woke up the next morning, there was a heavy weight on both his hips and his eyes. He fought for a moment to blink away the residual exhaustion before glancing over his shoulder. Enjolras was still fast asleep, his golden curls splayed across the pillow and drool pooling at the corner of his mouth. At first, Grantaire felt a burst of affection for the man next to him, but the more awake he became, the more he felt the white-hot anger he had been feeling the night before.

Grantaire moved as slowly and quietly as he could, lifting Enjolras’s hand off his hip and climbing out of bed. His jeans were folded neatly on the dresser across the room, and his slippers were next to the door. He tiptoed over to the dresser and grabbed his jeans, tucking them under his arm as he slid his feet into his slippers and left the room, closing the door gently behind him. He went down to the kitchen and slipped his jeans on, kicking his slippers off next to the stove.

He looked around the kitchen in disgust, the dishes that he had left in the sink the night before still carelessly piled beneath the faucet, flies already beginning to swirl around the places where the Alfredo sauce had dried in chalky lakes. He grit his teeth and turned the water on, closing his eyes for a moment as the stream heated up. The dishes would have to soak, and he highly doubted that he was going to be able to use his favorite serving dish ever again.

Grantaire opened his eyes and went into the dining room, stacking the dishes in his hands and taking them into the kitchen to soak, as well. He made sure that everything was coated before turning around and leaning against the counter, letting out a long breath through his nose and lifting his hand up to rub his eyes.

“R?”

Grantaire’s head shot up, and he looked across the kitchen to see Enjolras standing in the doorway, his lower lip between his teeth and his brow furrowed. He was still in his boxers, but he had pulled on one of Grantaire’s tee shirts, which was so large on him that it draped down to the middle of his thighs.

Grantaire pursed his lips and nodded at Enjolras, but he didn’t say anything to him before he turned back towards the sink and began to scrub one of the containers mindlessly, trying his hardest to hide the way that his hands were already beginning to shake. He used his nails to scrap at the washcloth, the pressure providing a brief distracting from the swooping feeling in his stomach.

Enjolras tried again. “R, look at me, please. I’m sorry. I know you’re mad at me right now, and I deserve it, but please, you have to know that I really am so, _so_ sorry for not being here last night.”

Grantaire couldn’t help but scoff. “Yeah, right.” He glanced over at Enjolras just in time to see the man’s shameful gaze harden, a sure sign that Grantaire was sparking something dark in him. _Good_ , Grantaire thought, giving the washcloth a satisfied squeeze, _maybe he’ll realize just how much he hurt me last night._

Enjolras crossed his arms in front of his chest and rocked back on his heel. “What is that supposed to mean? I said I’m sorry, and I mean it.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “You say that every time you miss something that’s important to me and yet here you are, ‘apologizing’ for yet _another_ broken promise that I can just add to the list of things you’ve failed to show up to.”

“You know I have to work, you knew that going in to this relationship! I can’t help it if sometimes things get hectic, if I have to stay late sometimes—R, the point is that I am _trying_ make things better.”

Grantaire grit his teeth, his mind whirring as he thought of all the awful things that he could say to Enjolras to make him exactly like _he_ had last night. Normally, he didn’t resort to being awful when Enjolras and he fought, but this, he could not help. “It’s not like your work is really helping anyone, anyway. Sure, maybe you’ll be able to do something for this _one_ school, but what about the students who have siblings who have already graduated, huh? They’ll see the suffering and struggling out on the streets and in their own home than they would in school. Are you going to remove their siblings from their lives, as well?”

Enjolras, too, clenched his jaw and moved his hands down to his sides, clenching his fists and digging his nails into his palms. “At least I’m actually out there doing something, you’re just here all fucking day twiddling your thumbs and pretending to draw pretty pictures on those canvases you have strewn around our guest room. When was the last time you sold an painting, anyway? Besides, it’s not like you came to my last charity function, and that was actually worth something!”

“Because I had the stomach flu, and I’m fucking glad to hear what you really think of me.” He snorted and shook his head, balling up the washcloth in his hand before throwing it down into the sink, where it broke off a piece of the sauce, which bounced against the metal with a loud _thunk_.. “At least I’ve been trying to make myself a better person, do something that _helps_ our relationship, instead of being a selfish prick all the Goddamn time.”

“Yeah, giving up something that most people don’t ever even have a problem with, you’re a _real_ success, Grantaire. Alert the papers, Grantaire is the most accomplished man on the earth, he can fucking avoid getting drunk like a frat boy ever night—”

“Just shut the fuck up!”

Enjolras stopped, his eyes going wide. Grantaire _rarely_ told him to shut up. Before he could  say anything, however, Grantaire began to speak again, his stomach churning and his face on fire as he stormed towards Enjolras. “Fuck you, Enjolras. You know how _hard_ I’ve worked at all of this, how it nearly killed me when I first started cutting back. You were there for the whole fucking thing, and you still don’t get why this was such a big deal for me!”

He kicked the side of the counter angrily, his heart in his throat. “Jesus Christ, Enjolras, we’ve been together for four years, and this is how you show me that you care? I must really mean nothing to you if all you can fucking think about is all the ways that I’ve failed instead of what a fucking accomplishment three years is for an addict.”

He blew a breath out through his nose and looked back at Enjolras, clenching his fists again to stop the trembling as tears burned the backs of his eyes. “You know what, Enjolras? I’m _done._ I love you, but I can’t fucking do this anymore. I can’t try to keep this relationship going when your heart isn’t one-hundred-percent into it. I just can’t.” His voice broke, and all the anger that was coursing through his veins dissipating faster than a puddle in the summer sun. “I won’t.”

Enjolras, too, looked like the anger has flown right out of him, and stared at Grantaire with a dumbfounded look on his face. “What?”

Grantaire couldn’t look at Enjolras as he spoke. He knew that if he did, he wouldn’t go through with what he was saying, his heart breaking even as the thoughts ran through his mind. “I deserve better than this, Enjolras. I deserve to be loved by someone who actually gives a damn about the things that I do.” He sniffed, blinking hurriedly as the first of the tears began to slip over his cheeks. “I’ll have Eponine come back over for my things. Please, if you’ve _ever_ loved me, don’t come after me.”

He stepped back as Enjolras sucked in a sharp breath and tried to grab his arm. His fingers brushed Grantaire’s sleeve, but Grantaire’s quick turn kept his hand from closing around Grantaire’s bicep. “Please don’t do this,” Enjolras whispered, his voice quivering and small, something that made the hollow ache in Grantaire’s chest even worse.

Grantaire sniffed and stuffed his hands in his pocket. “Goodbye, Enjolras.”

“R, please, wait—”

“Goodbye.” He grabbed his phone off the counter and shoved it into his pocket before turning on his heel and running out of the room, grabbing his keys off the end table and rushing out to his car. He started the engine and pulled out of the driveway, forcing all of his attention on the road in front of him instead of on the way that the front door swung open, or on how Enjolras flew out of the house with tears streaming down his face.

He didn’t even make it all the way to Eponine’s apartment before he was crying too hard to see.

 

***

 

Enjolras watched Grantaire’s car disappear down the street, his heart shattering with every inch put in between him and the man that he loved. He stood on the porch for several minutes after the car had disappeared around the corner, desperately praying that Grantaire would change his mind and come back. After ten minutes, however, Enjolras was forced to face the truth: he had lost the man that he loved, and it was entirely his fault.

He went back into the living room and sunk down on to the couch, putting his elbows on his thighs and burying his face in his hands. He couldn’t hold back the sobs that wracked his entire body, his abdomen heaving and beginning to ache from the fore of his wails. God, how could he have been so stupid? He _had_ known what a big deal Grantaire’s sobriety was, and he _had_ been proud of what an accomplishment three years had been. It was just that there were so many children that needed him, so many people that—

No. There wasn’t any excuse he could use to justify breaking his promise.

Grantaire was right. He really _did_ deserve better.

Enjolras pressed his fingers against his eyes and tried to stop the flow of tears. He swallowed harshly over and over, doing anything that he possibly could to make the hurt and despair go away. It wasn’t fair to Grantaire, the way that he was crying over this. _Grantaire_ was the one who had the right to be hurting, not him.

No matter what Enjolras tried to tell himself, however, he couldn’t deny the way that his heart was shattered.

 

***

 

Six weeks went by without a word from Grantaire, and things did not getting any better. Enjolras was still completely heartbroken, and not a moment passed by that he wished that he had done things differently. He had nightmares nearly every night of all the situations he could have come home to that night: Grantaire drunk, his three-year accomplishment wasted, or the house being empty were the two most prominent ones. He had passed his work almost entirely over to Courfeyrac and Combeferre, the passion that once burned bright for change dimming to nearly nothing as depression hit him hard and fast.

Changing the world was useless when there was no one by his side to celebrate his success.

Enjolras had just curled up on the couch with a bowl of spumoni ice cream and the _Star Wars_ Snuggie that Grantaire had bought him for Christmas when there was an insistent knocking on the door. He tried to ignore it at first, grabbing the remote off the coffee table and turning up the television. The visitor was persistent, however, and knocked even harder, the sound echoing around the house.

Enjolras groaned and put his ice cream on the cushion next to him, standing up and shoving his Snuggie to the floor before going over and pulling open the door, his already-blackened heart numbing further when he saw the Eponine was standing there with an eyebrow raised and her arms crossed over her chest. “Took you look enough to fucking answer the door,” Eponine spat, tapping her foot impatiently before uncrossing her arms and shoving Enjolras to the side so that she could step in.

Enjolras took a deep breath and closed the door behind her, turning around and heading towards the staircase. “R’s stuff is upstairs,” he said softly, flinching slightly at the rough way his voice cracked, his vocal chords stiff form lack of use. “You hadn’t been by to get it so—I, well, I just boxed it up and left it in our room. I, uh, haven’t been using it much.” He reached up and scratched the back of his neck, gesturing with his other hand towards the piles of pillows he had tossed onto the loveseat.

He began to step up onto the first step, but Eponine reached out and grabbed his arm. “I’m not here to get R’s stuff,” she said, hesitating for a moment before pulling Enjolras towards her and pulling him into a hug.

Enjolras, who had barely even _spoken_ to anyone else since the breakup, nonetheless been touched by anyone, began to tear up the moment that he felt Eponine’s arms around him. She rubbed his back gently as he began to cry harder, making small cooing sounds at him as he let out all of the anxiety and agony he had been trying so hard to keep locked inside of him.

“I miss him so much, Eponine,” he admitted, pressing his face against her neck and clenching the back of her shirt in his hands. “He was right, he deserves so much more than me. I was an awful boyfriend, but God, if I could go back and redo it all, I would be there for everything. I love him so, so much.” He hiccupped, the tears falling harder. “I took him for granted, and I thought I could handle having both him and my work, but my work is worth nothing if he’s not around. My successes are nothing if I don’t have him to share them with.”

“Now you’re starting to understand how I felt.”

Enjolras startled as he heard a new voice from the doorway. He lifted his face off Eponine’s shoulder and stared at Grantaire with wide eyes, his chest exploding with pain as his numbed heart was filled to the brim with emotion. He untangled Eponine’s arms from around his shoulders and launched himself at Grantaire, throwing his arms around him and trembling as his senses was overwhelmed with _Grantaire_. His smell, the feeling of his skin, the taste of his skin beneath Enjolras’s lips . . . it was overwhelming, and everything that Enjolras had so desired since the moment he realized that Grantaire wasn’t coming back.

“You’re here,” he sobbed, pulling back from Grantaire only long enough to wrap a hand around the back of his neck and kiss him, his other hand moving down to rest over Grantaire’s heart, which was beating just as quickly as his own was. “I’m sorry, R, I’m so fucking sorry.” He kissed him again before moving to press kisses around the rest of his face, moving from the tip of his nose, to his cheekbones, to his forehead. “I love you so much; I’m so sorry.”

Grantaire didn’t say anything, and Enjolras felt his heart stop again. His stomach dropped down to his feet when he realized that Grantaire hadn’t hugged him back. He bit down hard on his lip and stepped away, wrapping his arms around himself in comfort and staring down at the floor.

For a moment, there was silence, but then Grantaire said, “Eponine, you can go now. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay, R.” She reached over and squeezed Enjolras’s shoulder before leaving.

Once the door was shut, Grantaire reached out and took Enjolras’s hand, pulling him over to the couch. Enjolras kept his gaze locked on the ground, terrified of what he would find if he looked Grantaire in the face. Had he really just come by to get his things?

“Enjolras, look at me,” Grantaire said softly once they were both sitting down, angling his body so that he was facing Enjolras. He took Enjolras’s hand in his and reached across to tap him on the nose.

Enjolras did as he was asked, worrying his lower lip between his teeth and darting his gaze back and forth between Grantaire and the wall behind him. Grantaire moved his hand up to cup Enjolras’s chin. “Enjolras. I want to come home.”

 _That_ made Enjolras lock his gaze with Grantaire’s. “But I was so awful to you,” he whispered, hesitating before leaning forward and pressing his forehead against Grantaire’s. “You were right, you do deserve better than me. I’ve been the worst boyfriend in the world.”

Grantaire let out a dry chuckle. “Yes, you had problems, but you were right, I _did_ know what I was getting into when we first got together. I said things I didn’t mean that night, too.” He tilted his head forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Enjolras’s lips. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, so, _so_ much, and I swear to you, R, I’m going to be better. I love you, and I don’t ever want to be without you again.”

“I love you, too, Apollo.” He adjusted their position so that they were lying down on the couch, Enjolras on the outside and Grantaire wrapped around his back. Grantaire pressed a kiss to his neck. “I don’t need you to come to everything, sweetheart, or to give up your work, but I just wish you would make time for me every now and then. I love you, but this relationship will never survive on my love alone.”

Enjolras looked over his shoulder to see Grantaire gazing at him. “I will, R, I promise. I’m going to be the boyfriend that you deserve. I’m going to make you proud to be mine.”

Grantaire leaned down and kissed him. “I’m already proud to be yours.” He lied back down and pushed Enjolras’s head away. “Nap with me, sweetheart. We can talk more later. I just want to hold you right now.”

Enjolras nodded. Grantaire’s arms around him was one of the things that he had missed the most. “I love you, R.”

“I love you, too. Rest well.”

Enjolras closed his eyes and was asleep within minutes, Grantaire’s breath hot on his neck, dreams of a brighter future with Grantaire by his side filling his mind.

He would make it work.

 

 

 


End file.
